


Of Capstans and Cracked Mobiles

by bakerstbois



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Murder, casefic, screenplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:18:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstbois/pseuds/bakerstbois
Summary: An adapted OW written for a screenwriting class.





	Of Capstans and Cracked Mobiles

FADE IN:

 

 

 

               INT. HOTEL ROOM - MORNING

 

               SHERLOCK lays asleep in a double bed in a run down hotel

               room. The white walls are peeling and have been tinted yellow

               after years of smoke damage. Sherlock turns over onto his

               back, eyes flickering behind his eyelids as he slowly wakes

               His light blue eyes snap open suddenly.

 

               Outside is the sound of heavy FOOTSTEPS and several raised

               voices. Sherlock stands, making his way to the door of the

               hotel room and cracks it open. Unable to see anything, he

               opens it farther, sticking his head (with sleep-tousled hair)

               out into the hallway.

 

               In the adjacent lobby, he sees TWO PARAMEDICS wheeling a

               gurney toward the front door. The body on the gurney is

               covered by a white sheet, but blood has soaked through around

               the head area, painting the sheet crimson. There are several

               policemen taking statements from upset hotel workers.

 

               Sherlock steps away from the door, eyes suddenly alight with

               excitement and mouth curling into a grin. He glances to the

               other double bed in the room, which holds a man in his mid

               thirties, sound asleep.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         It looks like our rapist will have

                         to be put on the backburner.

 

               The sleeping man, JOHN, stirs and sits up slowly. He is

               shorter and stockier than Sherlock, with dark blue eyes and

               sandy blonde hair.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (groggily)

                         What d'you mean?

 

               Sherlock dashes over to the en-suite sink, hastily brushing

               his teeth as John stands and rubs his face. Sherlock spits

               out his toothpaste and turns to John, eyes sparkling almost

               manically.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         A murder, John, or at least so it

                         seems. I just saw them roll the

                         body out.

 

               John's eyebrows raise as he searches his suitcase for a fresh

               outfit, finally opting for jeans and a cable-knit tan

               sweater.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Fancy it happening the night we

                         stay here. What're the chances?

 

               Sherlock, who is now searching his covers for his pocket

               notepad, chuckles, in a rare good mood.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Exactly! Which is why we have to

                         investigate it. It must be fate.

 

               John stands with a huff of a laugh, rubbing the palms of his

               hands over his dark blue eyes.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (dryly)

                         I thought you don't believe in

                         fate.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Well, I don't, but if I did, I

                         would say this is fate. What are

                         you so glum about? It's a murder!

                         We haven't had a good murder in

                         months! Well, to be fair, it could

                         actually be something dull like a

                         suicide, but it's worth taking a

                         look at, at any rate.

 

               John makes his way to the bathroom, not bothering to close

               the door as he changes out of his pajamas and into a sweater

               and jeans. Sherlock is all but buzzing with excitement as he

               hastily strips from his white t-shirt and plaid pajama

               bottoms, changing into a purple dress shirt and black dress

               pants.

 

               John emerges from the bathroom just as Sherlock reaches for

               his Oxfords, grabbing a pair of brown boots. He perches

               himself on his bed and slowly laces them up.

 

                                   JOHN

                         But what about our case? We're only

                         at this hotel because we were sent

                         here undercover by a client. It

                         hardly seems right to abandon her

                         case just because something more...

                         interesting came up.

 

               Sherlock pauses in his tool gathering, glancing at John, who

               is just finishing tying his laces. After a moment of silence,

               John looks up.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (suspiciously)

                         What?

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (hesitantly)

                         I... haven't been entirely honest

                         with you.

 

               John knits his eyebrows in confusion as stands, shoving his

               pajamas into his suitcase and grabbing his toothbrush. He

               brushes past Sherlock to the sink.

 

                                   JOHN

                         What do you mean?

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         We haven't... we aren't getting

                         paid for this.

 

               John looks up swiftly, eyes widening in indignation,

               toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I owed the victim a favour. Well, I

                         owed the victim's father a favour,

                         actually, but that's hardly the

                         point.

 

                                   JOHN

                         And you didn't think to tell me

                         this when I took time off from the

                         surgery?

 

               Sherlock rolls his eyes.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Like I said, not relevant. My point

                         is, since we're not actually being

                         paid to solve any cases, so it

                         doesn't matter if we get

                         sidetracked for a day or two. I'm

                         not throwing her case aside, but-

                         come on, a murder!

 

               Some of Sherlock's previous enthusiasm returns with full

               force. John rolls his eyes, trying to stay irritated with the

               detective, but his excitement is too contagious.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Fine. But we're coming straight

                         back to our own case when we're

                         done. Let me just grab my mobile

                         and we can go.

 

               He reaches for it on the nightstand, but it isn't plugged in

               to the charger. He searches his sheets, the duvet thrown

               gracelessly to the ground as he looks, getting on his hands

               and knees to check under the bed.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (frowning thoughtfully)

                         I must have left it in the lobby

                         last night when I went to ask for

                         extra towels.

 

               Sherlock, who has been watching the search patiently this

               entire time, sighs.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Fine. We can look for that first, I

                         suppose. Your phone camera is

                         better than mine, anyway, and we

                         might need pictures for later

                         reference.

 

               John rolls his eyes with a smirk.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Not to mention it's worth hundreds

                         of dollars and is my main source of

                         communication with other people.

                         But who cares about that when it

                         can be used as a tool for

                         investigation!

 

               Sherlock smiles.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I'm glad you see it the way I do.

                         Now let's go.

 

 

 

               INT. HOTEL - MOMENTS LATER

 

               Sherlock and John walk nonchalantly into the lobby, which is

               just as worn-down and outdated as their hotel room, giving

               off a strange 1970s log cabin vibes, with plush couches, dark

               carpets, and dark paneled walls. Their arrival goes unnoticed

               by the police officers and hotel staff crowding the lobby,

               one female employee sobbing hysterically into a tissue while

               the young officer talking to her shifts nervously.

               The duo crane their necks, looking around the crowded and

               noisy room, and Sherlock points to a dirty plastic trash can

               by the front revolving doors.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I see your mobile, there, behind

                         that bin. Someone must've kicked it

                         there by accident.

 

               They go to retrieve John's phone, which has been covered in

               cobwebs in the shadow of the trash bin. Sherlock reaches into

               his back pocket and pulls out a pack of Capstan cigarettes,

               flicking it open. He pulls one out and twists the filter off,

               dropping it into the trash bin before he lights the

               cigarette. John shoots Sherlock a stern look.

 

                                   JOHN

                         We're inside a building, Sherlock,

                         and I thought you quit months ago.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I picked it back up as a hobby.

                         You're allowed to smoke inside, I

                         checked last night.

 

                                   JOHN

                         In the lobby?

 

               Sherlock smiles wickedly as he puts the cigarette to his

               mouth.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         She didn't specify.

 

               John sighs and reaches for his phone, pulling a disgusted

               face at the grittiness of the ground. The screen of his

               iPhone 6 entirely shattered, but it still works.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (muttering)

                         Kicked here, you say? Bloody hard

                         kick it must have been.

 

               He unlocks it, only to find it open on the call log. The last

               number dialed is "999", the call made at 2:07AM that morning.

 

                                   JOHN

                         D'you reckon the victim found my

                         phone before he was attacked and

                         called the police?

 

               Sherlock is deep in thought, crouched beside John, taking a

               drag on his cigarette.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         It's possible. Unless you made a

                         midnight rezendevous for some

                         coffee and don't remember it,

                         obviously someone used your mobile

                         and made that call. But why

                         wouldn't they use their own mobile?

 

                                   JOHN

                         Who knows? Maybe they couldn't get

                         any service on theirs, or it was

                         dead. Or maybe they left their own

                         back in their room.

 

               Sherlock stands, followed quickly by John.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Perhaps. More data is needed before

                         we can formulate any hypotheses. We

                         need to get to the crime scene.

                         Even though they've removed the

                         body, there could still be enough

                         information to come to a

                         preliminary conclusion.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Well, how are we going to get in?

                         It'll be swarming with officers.

 

               They go silent. Sherlock's eyes narrow as he thinks.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Judging by the direction the

                         paramedics came from, I would say

                         that the murder took place at

                         either the pool or the bar. My bet

                         is on the bar, judging by the

                         height of the victim and the

                         apparent time of murder. Both the

                         pool and the bar had long been

                         closed by then since last night was

                         a Sunday night.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Okay, but that doesn't explain how

                         we'll get into the bar.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         There's an employees entrance right

                         next to where the breakfast buffet

                         is held every day.

                         I'm sure it's been canceled this

                         morning, considering the current

                         circumstances, but it wouldn't be

                         unusual for a hungry hotel patron

                         to check just in case. When we're

                         sure no one's looking, I'll pick

                         the lock.

 

               John blinks as he processes this.

 

                                   JOHN

                         So we're just going to slide on

                         into the bar and hope no one

                         catches us?

 

               Sherlock beams, eyes glinting mischievously.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Basically, yes. Any problems?

 

                                   JOHN

                             (sighing in resignation)

                         None whatsoever.

 

 

 

               INT. HALLWAY - DAY

 

               Sherlock and John walk down a hallway similar to the one

               outside their bedroom, laughing together. They are the

               perfect picture of innocent comradery. A police officer

               emerges from a glass double door (although the glass has been

               shattered) and passes John and Sherlock but takes no notice

               of their presence. John looks into the room as they pass by.

               There is a large blood stain just inside the door.

 

                                   JOHN

                         That's the bar, I assume?

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Yes. I went in there last night

                         while you were getting ready to

                         take your shower. Seeing as the

                         rape we're here to investigate took

                         place in there earlier in the day,

                         I knew I would have to look around

                         before the cleaning crew came

                         through this morning and destroyed

                         any potential evidence, so it

                         seemed like a good time. They'd

                         just closed, so that's why I had to

                         find a back entrance.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (slightly offended)

                         Why would you go without me?

 

               Sherlock scoffs.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         You would only slow me down.

 

               John huffs. After a moment:

 

                                   JOHN

                         Do you think they're the ones who

                         found the body? The cleaning crew?

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (with a shrug)

                         Probably. I don't think it matters

                         for this case. Right turn here.

 

               They turn right at the fork in the hallway. Sherlock glances

               around cautiously, stepping up to a wooden door and jiggling

               the handle. It's locked. Sherlock steps back and cranes his

               neck, ensuring there is no one in the near vicinity.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         The coast is clear. Make sure no

                         one comes this way.

 

               He kneels in front of the door and produces a bobby pin from

               his pocket, attempting to pick the lock. John stands keeping

               guard near the fork, arms crossed as he pouts about being

               left out of the investigation last night.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (mockingly, to himself)

                         Oh, hello officer, please don't

                         turn this corner, my friend is

                         picking the lock to sneak into a

                         murder crime scene. If you could

                         just turn around and go back the

                         way you came that would be lovely.

 

               Sherlock huffs in frustration.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         For being such a cheap hotel, they

                         sure invested in good locks.

 

                                   JOHN

                             (still bitter)

                         You apparently got it last night

                         with no issues.

 

               Sherlock ignores him, struggling for a few more seconds

               before standing victoriously and yanking the door open.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I got it. Now hurry.

 

               John ducks into the now-unlocked room. With one last glance

               around the hallway, Sherlock follows suit.

 

 

 

               INT. BAR - CONTINUOUS

 

               The crime scene is focused mainly around a billiards table

               with blood staining the green velvet as well as a pool of

               blood near the shattered glass door. Scattered around the

               room are small circular tables with padded chairs. Next to

               the back door they just came through is a sleek black bar.

               Sherlock remains his cool, calm self, even in the face of a

               bloody crime scene.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Double homicide. Interesting. Both

                         victims were male, here on

                         business, only booked one night,

                         but were considering staying

                         longer.

 

               John huffs, rolling his eyes.

 

                                   JOHN

                         You're just making this up. There's

                         no way you could know that from

                         this.

 

               Sherlock turns to John, highly affronted.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I never make things up! I merely

                         observe the facts and induce

                         conclusions.

 

                                   JOHN

                         That's just fancy talk for

                         guessing. I know you.

 

               Just as he's about to retort, Sherlock pauses, attention

               caught by something on the floor a few feet away. He

               crouches, head tilting to the side as he observes. He lays

               flat on his stomach, face inches from the object of his

               interest, which is a cigarette butt with tiny splatters of

               blood on it. Unseen by John, his entire face blanches when he

               sees that it is a Capstan with the filter ripped off. He

               reaches for the cigarette box in his pocket unconsciously, as

               if checking that it's still there.

 

               Unaware of the sudden drama, John glances around nervously.

               An officer is taking notes, another is taking photographs of

               the crime scene with a polaroid camera, and a third is

               setting down a manila envelope on the table closest to the

               front entrance. Several more stand together, talking in low

               voices.John looks back down to Sherlock, who is still laying

               on the floor.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Sherlock, you look like an idiot.

                         Stand up and let's go before we get

                         caught. This wasn't a good idea.

 

               Sherlock motions idly to John telling him to be patient as he

               slowly picks up the cigarette butt. He observes it closely,

               trying to compose himself after finding one of his own

               cigarettes at the crime scene. His eyebrows knot together.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (to himself)

                         Interesting.

 

               He climbs to his feet just OFFICER 1, an officer with

               thinning brown hair and a handlebar moustache, turns toward

               them. They duck behind the bar, stilling for several long

               moments. The officer slowly makes his way over toward them,

               hand falling casually to his taser as he peers around.

 

               Sherlock and John share a startled look and crawl on their

               hands and knees to the side of the bar, trying to avoid being

               seen.

 

                                   OFFICER 1

                         Hey, Officer 2, did you hear

                         something over here?

 

               Another officer with dark eyes and blonde hair looks over.

 

                                   OFFICER 2

                         No, why?

 

               Officer 1's eyes narrow as he looks around. Sherlock and John

               hold their breath, expecting to have to make a run for it.

 

                                   OFFICER 1

                         Dunno. Must've been my imagination.

 

               After several long seconds, Officer 1 returns to the

               billiards table, glancing back at the bar suspiciously one

               last time.

 

               Sherlock and John wait another moment before straightening

               and slipping back out the door to the hallway. It closes

               quietly behind them.

 

 

 

               INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         The utter incompetence shown by

                         today's police force is staggering.

                         Two intruders tampering with

                         evidence on the scene with officers

                         present? I mourn for the modern

                         victim. No wonder murders go

                         unsolved for so long.

 

               John rolls his eyes again, ignoring his statement.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Why'd you take that cigarette? It

                         was across the room from the scene.

                         How do you know it was related?

 

               Sherlock holds the cigarette butt in front of John's face.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Tiny specks of blood spatter. There

                         was none on the floor or

                         surrounding surfaces, so the

                         cigarette must have been closer to

                         the crime scene and moved there

                         later.

 

               John raises an eyebrow.

 

                                   JOHN

                         You spotted that before you knelt

                         down to look at it?

 

               Sherlock shrugs.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         No, but I just had a hunch. We need

                         to get this to a lab to see if it

                         has the murderer's DNA on it.

 

                                   JOHN

                         I still don't understand why you

                         think it's related to the crime

                         scene. Just because it has a few

                         droplets of blood on it? The carpet

                         might have had blood on it, too,

                         but you just couldn't see it.

 

               Sherlock sighs as the pair start off down the hallway towards

               the lobby.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Obviously you know nothing about

                         blood spatter. The droplets are

                         almost perfectly round, meaning

                         they fell almost straight down from

                         the wound before impacting the

                         cigarette, and I saw when they

                         wheeled the body by in the lobby

                         that the victim was shot in the

                         head, so it would make sense that

                         the victim was smoking it; if the

                         cigarette had been anywhere else in

                         the room, the droplets would be

                         more oblong. Perhaps the killer

                         meant to dispose of the evidence,

                         but dropped it on his way out,

                         leaving his fingerprints on the

                         cigarette. It's worth a shot,

                         anyway.

 

               John blinks as he processes this rapid-fire information just

               as the enter the lobby.

 

                                   JOHN

                         You should have been an auctioneer.

 

 

 

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY - DAY

 

               Sherlock and John stride across the lobby toward the front

               doors. Sherlock is getting increasingly frantic.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Look, it's been fun impressing you

                         with my brilliance, but we really

                         need to get to the lab to analyze

                         this cigarette. We can come back

                         for our bags later, we don'tt check

                         out until noon anyway and it's only

                         8:00.

 

               Sherlock leans onto the bar of the double doors leading

               outside and collides with the glass. The door is locked.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Oh, for God's sake! They have us on

                         bloody lockdown.

                             (calling out mockingly to

                              the officers)

                         Look, officers, it wasn't me, I

                         didn't kill those men, now I need

                         to--

 

               Seemingly oblivious to them, A THIRD MAN enters the lobby and

               easily brushes past the two detectives and exits the building

               through the other double door. Sherlock tries to keep it

               opened but he can't; he's pushed back with the momentum of

               the door. John frowns. The door closes and Sherlock once

               again pushes the door, but it doesn't budge.

 

               He turns to John, looking slightly insane.

 

                                   JOHN

                         What the hell is going on?

 

               Sherlock's mouth opens and closes, eyes gleaming in barely

               disguised terror.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I... we can't get out. These doors

                         won't-- I don't--

 

               John frowns, thinking.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Back exit, then. There has to be

                         one.

 

               Sherlock springs into action, dashing across the slowly

               emptying lobby.

 

 

 

               INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

 

               Sherlock and John dash down down winding hallways until they

               reaches a door with a glowing exit sign. Sherlock throws

               himself against it, but it remains closed. He leans his

               forehead against it, body sagging in defeat. He remains still

               as John catches up, slightly winded.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (hoarsely)

                         I have a bad feeling that I know

                         what's going on here. Every

                         scientific cell in my body is

                         against the mere notion of it, but

                         it seems to be where the facts are

                         pointing.

 

                                   JOHN

                         What is it? What's going on?

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         Everything. This whole situation.

                         Your mobile being used for a 999

                         call. One of my cigarettes, bloody

                         and at the scene of the murder.

                         No one seems to be able to see us-

                         I mean, surely someone would have

                         said something to us by now.

 

               Horror is starting to dawn on John's face.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Are you saying what I think you're

                         saying?

 

               Sherlock's breathing has gone ragged. He nods.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (hoarsely)

                         Let's go back to the crime scene so

                         I can confirm my hypothesis.

 

               They slowly make their way in silence back to the lobby,

               suddenly very tense. John reaches for Sherlock's shoulder,

               trying to stop him front entering the bar through the broken

               glass door surrounded by officers inside, but the detective

               brushes him off, stepping directing through the glass.

 

                                   JOHN

                         What are you-- oh, for God's sake--

 

               He follows after Sherlock, who is almost in a trance. They

               stop at the small circular table closest to the doors, which

               holds the manila folder they saw earlier.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Are we allowed to look at those?

 

               Sherlock huffs out an empty laugh as he reaches for the

               folder.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                         I don't think they'll mind. At

                         least, assuming I'm right.

 

               He pauses, fingers gripping the edge of the folder, ready to

               flip it open. He suddenly seems very young, almost child-like

               in his terror.

 

                                   SHERLOCK

                             (whispering)

                         I'm scared.

 

               John swallows and clenches his jaw, glancing at the folder,

               still not entirely sure what to expect.

 

                                   JOHN

                         Me too.

 

               Sherlock takes in a deep breath and holds the folder for

               several seconds before flipping it open. On the top of the

               small stack of papers are two polaroid photographs.

 

               John gasps, face paling. The photographs are close-ups of two

               human faces, both with large bullet holes in their forehead.

               The victims, pale and lifeless, are Sherlock and John.

 

                                                         FADE TO BLACK.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I didn't tag MCD. I didn't want to spoil it. If it truly disturbs you, please message me on Twitter @bakerstbois and I'll tag it.


End file.
